


no further than before

by smalltalk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltalk/pseuds/smalltalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were bright-eyed and eighteen and in love before the world fell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no further than before

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted this to have 1,776 words but then i failed. happy birthday 'merica. warning: gratuitous fluff.

It ain’t like Bucky’s got deep pockets, no matter how many overtime shifts he seems to be pulling these days, but it definitely isn’t like Steve _isn’t_ worth it, either. The kid’s never had himself a bottle of Coca-Cola- what the hell is Bucky supposed to do about that?

Bucky buys Steve one, that’s what he does.

And then another one, after they’ve walked the boardwalk a good two hours in the early summer heat. And when Steve looks like he could do some good with a meal (when _doesn’t_ he), Bucky buys them both Nathan’s corn dogs until Steve looks like he’ll puke from just the name of it.

“I just can’t believe-” Bucky starts to say, temporarily distracted by the way Steve shoves the entire stick down his throat like a neanderthal. “Christ, Rogers-” He takes a napkin and all but throws it at Steve’s face. “You’d make a terrible lady, you know that?”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m anything but.” Steve smiles at him, and then burps. He tips his bottle of coke upside-down to get the last drops, and once finding it empty, reaches over for Bucky’s and takes a generous sip.

“God damn.” Bucky swears, in awe. “What happened to feeling sorry for spending all of your good friend Bucky’s _hard-earned_ money?”

“Sorry, I-” Steve puts the bottle down, turning a shade of red brighter than the sunburn on his cheeks. He’s got summer freckles, and it’s god-damned adorable. “I got carried away, didn’t I? No one’s ever treated me like this before, but you know that. Food, and all the rides, and the movie- _God_ , Buck-” Steve freezes, eyes wide like Bucky’s done something scandalous. “What are you even doing spending today with _me_?”

It breaks Bucky’s heart a little bit to hear him say things like that, like he doesn’t know how much Bucky’s head-over-heels _gone_ for his skinny ass.

“It’s your birthday. And even if it wasn’t, who else would I be watching the fireworks with?” He says without lying, and pushes the bottle back towards Steve from across the bench. He really should be more careful. Coney Island has the beach packing people together like sardines, and the boardwalk where they’re sitting is hard enough to hear each other’s voices in. But maybe it is this anonymity of being in a crowd of strangers that makes Bucky feel a little braver when he nudges Steve’s legs from beneath the table.

“Careful, Buck.” Steve warns, narrowing his eyes, only half-playful. “Or I might start to think that you’re trying to court me, or something.”

“If it ain’t already obvious what I’m trying to do, I’m not trying hard enough.” Bucky tilts his head, matching his gaze. “What do you think, Stevie?”

“I think,” Steve says, his mouth hanging open. “That if you won me a stuffed animal right about now, this might actually be...a _date_.”

“That a challenge?” Bucky leans forward, daring Steve to pull back. The ocean breeze whips hair into their faces, tickling Steve’s nose and making him laugh.

“If you’re up for one.” Steve grins. “I didn’t ride the Cyclone with you for nothin’.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m an all time champ at ring toss, Rogers. I’ll be back.” Bucky nods sagely, and then disappears, leaving Steve at the table to people-watch.

There are throngs of couples and groups of girl-friends scattered across the beach, what must be a symphony of rioting laughter and smiles. It must be awful nice, Steve thinks, to be out with someone who could make you feel that way and not give a damn about how inadequate you feel on the inside.

The breeze passes by again, making him shiver in the thin undershirt and shorts he’d regretfully decided to wear, but Bucky returns in an instant and drops a stuffed bear into his lap. It’s terribly soft with mildly disconcerting beaded eyes, and Steve loves it.

“You’re unbelievable.” Steve keeps himself from clutching the stuffed toy to his chest too hard. “How many tries did this take you?”

“Only a few.” Bucky lies straight through his teeth and shrugs. “ _Happy_ _birthday_ , and all that.”

“Buck,” Steve says tugging at Bucky’s wrist just once, before pulling back when he remembers again where they are. “You know I’m real grateful, right? All the time. Not just when you waste all your money on me on days like this.”

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s my best pal’s birthday.” Bucky huffs, patting Steve lightly on the head. “Ain’t ever a waste, either, not with you.”

He won’t say that it took him nearly seven tries to knock all of those cans out with the tiny bean bags. The games are rigged- he’s taken a dame or two down to Coney Island enough times to know that none of it is real. Bucky doesn’t care. He’ll blow all of the nickels he’s got left in his pockets if it means Steve will smile- carefree and breathless- for just a little longer. He’d do anything to keep that fantasy alive.

When it's dark out, they walk to Prospect Park for the fireworks. It’s nothing short of a miracle that Steve’s lungs don’t give out for that long of a trip on foot. Bucky doesn’t even have to stop for him once, and it makes his heart swell with pride and relief.

Still, exhausted, they stretch out in the grass beside the trunk of a giant oak. They're too far from the crowds of other people to hear their noise, so when Bucky speaks to him, failing ears or not, Steve hears him loud and clear.

"They're starting..." Bucky squints, pointing at the patches of sky in the distance where vibrant red and blue begin burst across the sky.

"Happy birthday to me," Steve adds, momentarily in awe. It's mostly a blur of light and colors in his eyes, and the sound like a whip cracking in his ears, but it doesn't make it any less beautiful.

"Well, they are for _you_." Bucky mumbles with a laugh.

"Shut up. Joke got old when you and I were five." Steve punches him on the arm without turning away from the sky. Bucky makes an undignified yelp, and just the sound makes Steve smile like a madman.

"Hey, Rogers." Bucky reaches out with one hand. Christ- the way the blue in his eyes lights up like a child. Makes him weak in the knees. It's a good thing they're lying down. Whether or  not he notices Bucky staring at him, he doesn’t show it. “Steve.” Bucky pokes him in the side, biting his lip. "Turn over here."

"Hush up, Buck, they ain't over yet." Steve swats the hand away. "Don't- hey, what the-"

Bucky takes Steve's chin firmly in his hand and tilts it toward his face.

"You smell rank." Steve wrinkles his nose but doesn't pull away. Neither of them smell particularly delicate after a day in the summer heat. Steve sighs, trying to jerk his face away, "Someone's gonna see you, Buck. Don’t be reckless."

"Ain't nobody lookin' over here. It’s dark as pitch, too. The fireworks are still on." Bucky insists, thinking of the few ways that this isn’t a stupid decision. Frankly, he doesn’t particularly care either way. Everyone else in Brooklyn can have the light show- that’s theirs. The real pretty thing is right in front of him.

"That's what I'm trying to telling you-" Steve rolls his eyes and makes to start telling Bucky off again, so Bucky swallows all of his inhibitions, leans in and presses his mouth firmly to the corner of Steve's lips. Steve's eyes widen and then flutter shut, and he lets Bucky push him down onto the blanket. Moving his hand from Steve's jaw to the base of his neck, and running his other down Steve's waist, Bucky bends down and plants another one straight onto Steve's mouth. It’s all terribly awkward, with Bucky trying not to crush Steve’s body with his, but he’s so warm and soft, and Steve’s apparently got a knack for making small noises at the back of his throat that make Bucky wild.

He pulls himself back before he does something like maul Steve’s entire face, because, _Lord,_ he wants to.

"Now why the hell would you stop _there_?" Steve opens his eyes, deep blue with pupils blown wide, like the Atlantic during a storm.

"I-" Bucky starts, staring down at him with his mouth open. The fireworks continue to crackle all around, but it doesn't matter. He gets tunnel vision around Steve, can't help it. Any and all finesse he seems to have around girls melts into a useless puddle of self-doubt beneath him.

"Fuckin' coward." Steve mutters, without any real malice, and pulls Bucky back down by the shoulders until they’re nearly nose-to-nose. "C'mon, show me why all those girls keep on coming back for more."

"Shit, Rogers." Bucky stutters. It isn't true. He's good to all the girls that he takes out but they don't make him dizzy in the head like this one does. " _Shit_. Alright."

"You always talk this much on your dates?" Steve says impatiently.

"Nah, sugar-" Bucky laughs into his ear, before inching back down to his cheek, his mouth. "Only when they're as pretty as you. God, you make me so damn nervous."

Steve just smiles- the widest Bucky's seen in a while, what with his ma, and all the doctors, and all the bullies always breathing down his neck. Kid can’t ever catch a break, like life can’t seem to get enough out of torturing him. Maybe the world isn’t ready for Steve, or maybe God doesn’t think they deserve his smile, but Bucky knows that it’s the only thing that might rival the sun.

 _I did that._ Bucky thinks. If he died right then, at least he’d know he made one good thing happen in his life. The Depression had made everyone a bit of a poet, but so does love do unto a hopeless romantic. Bucky wasn’t lacking in either department.

"You mine, Steve?" Bucky asks, voice hitching only slightly out of nerves. "That's all I gotta know, and I'll do whatever you want me to do, it's just making me crazy."

"Dumb question." Steve scoffs. “You really gonna make me say it?”  
  
"I just have to know." Bucky says, all but gathering Steve into his arms and rubbing his face all over him. "Just have to know that I didn’t dream this up when I wake up tomorrow morning."  
  
"I don't think you could dream this stuff up, Buck." Steve flushes, turning away.

"Believe me." Bucky just laughs sheepishly into his neck. "I have."

"Well-" Steve just sighs, still avoiding the question, and grabs Bucky by the collar to look him dead in the eye. "I guess you don't have to do that anymore, huh?"

And then the firecrackers go off again- and Bucky doesn't remember enough to know if they were in his head or not. Not when Steve had looked at him and kissed him back like that. Not when the sky had been so bright and the future seemed too far away for them to worry about anything other than the grass stains on their knees.

“‘S a dumb question, Buck, real dumb.” Steve’s mumbling later on when Bucky’s curling around him in bed. “Who else is there, you jerk.”

“But I’m sure you got all the guys and gals lining up at your door.” Bucky chuckles at his voice, thick with sleep. “Punk.” He adds, softly.

“Of course I do, don’t I?” Steve snorts. “But you’re the only one that seems to end up in my bed every night. ‘M tellin’ you...was a stupid question. A real riot of an idiot, that’s what you are.”

“I- I know.” Bucky says, even though he grips his arm around Steve just that much tighter. He’s always been afraid that someone or something else would take Steve first. That a girl would finally wisen up to how wonderful he was, or that another scare with Steve’s weak heart would be the last one.

Right now. This is what they have. Just enough food on the table for the better parts of the month, and enough holes in their clothes to remind them that it ain’t quite easy living just yet. A tiny shack in Bay Ridge where the windows don’t always keep the night’s chill out, or the constant sound of the record player from the old lady next door. With Cole Porter and Ella Fitzgerald crooning sweet nothings into their room like they’re laughing at Bucky, dangling what he might have right in front of him.

But on nights like these- where Steve is tired out with a warm and satisfied smile on his face, letting Bucky hold him together in his arms, he doesn’t mind falling asleep to the sound of a love song at all. 

 

 

 

_Come to me my melancholy baby_

_Cuddle up and don't be blue_

_All your fears are foolish fancies, baby_

_You know dear that I'm in love with you_

 

 

 

 _"_ I know that song."

"...What's that?"

"I think I've heard it before, a long while ago, in a dream. D'you always listen to this?"

"Yeah, whenever I can't fall asleep, Buck. I do."

 

**Author's Note:**

> [ or else i shall be melancholy too... ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xLTbEC1prcs)  
>  thank you to every reader who drops a comment or sends some kudos my way. makes me warm and fuzzy inside my cold heart.


End file.
